Watercolors
by phix27
Summary: The people around him turned him different colors.  Especially Potter.  But Draco didn't mind.


"Daddy!"

It was a word he'd never thought to be applied to him. Before the war, he'd known that someday, he'd carry on the Malfoy line. Then his life had been colored in green- not for Slytherin, but for possibility. During the war, well, he'd be sure he would die every day. His days had been shades of gray, darkening as time passed. He'd known as soon as they turned black, he'd be dead. And then where would he be? But he had lived and so had his family and so had… him.

After, though, he'd never thought to hear those words. Not because the Malfoy name was disgraced- he'd lived through that, so could his child and his wife… well, all purebloods were a disgrace now, so it didn't much matter- but because of, yet again, him. That black-haired demon that had plagued his life since he was eleven, then stepped in to make everything that much more complicated. But his days were still shades of gray. Just a lighter shade.

He remembered the beginning clearly, or rather, the beginning of the beginning of the new them. Complicated, but when had they ever been easy?

The day had been gray, matching the overcoat he'd worn. It made him inconspicuous, or as much as he could be with blond hair like his. He had walked through the streets with head down, ignoring the catcalls, the jeers, which were all too commonplace now. They barely affected him now.

"Hey Malfoy!" a voice had called and he'd looked up, blinking to see _him_ hurrying toward him with a bright smile in place and a little wave. His hair was delightfully windblown, his eyes sparkling like emeralds. While glasses usually dulled eyes, they brightened his, framing his face, adding interest. Not that his face needed interest.

"Hello Potter," he'd said, blinking in surprise as the man who'd kept him out of Azkaban stopped by his side. "Do you need something?"

"Have dinner with me."

Always blunt, always full of surprises. Draco would have thought it a joke, if not for the dead serious light in his eyes. He was going to deny- it was only right, after all, he couldn't agree to go on a date with the Savior but-

"Sure."

And that was that. The sky had opened, dropping fat drops onto their skin and blurring the lines. If they were a painting, they would have been a watercolor.

The days following were ones he would never forget. Though winter was dull and gray, his life was vibrant in those days. Colorful. Reds, oranges and yellows. Like a sunrise, but upon reflecting, it was more of a sunset. Still vibrant, still breathtaking and a rush and all those things that went along with sunsets, but tainted with sadness. It couldn't last and deep down, they both knew it.

Draco also knew that Harry would be the one to end it. The whole thing had been his to begin with. _Draco_ had been his.

The end, just like the beginning, was firmly stuck in his mind. He'd been lying on their bed, throwing a Quaffle in the air and waiting, just waiting for him to come home. That was all he did most days, wait for him.

He'd heard the front door close and sat up, already grinning like a loon. Laughter had drifted up to him and Draco had frowned then, wishing Harry had told him he'd be bringing someone home. Standing, he'd pulled on a clean shirt and wandered barefoot into the hall, to see Harry stumble up the stairs, laughing and clutching… the Weasley girl.

His laughter stopped abruptly and green eyes widened as he saw Draco standing there. "Er…"

Ginny had laughed from behind him then, hanging on Potter like the leech she was quickly becoming in his eyes. "Aww Harry, your little boyfriend caught us. Poor Malfoy, getting his heart crushed." Her eyes locked onto Draco's as she pressed a kiss to Harry's neck and snuggled into his side.

Draco answered hollowly, feeling disconnected from everything. "No need to worry about that anymore. Enjoy him Weasley. I did."

He pushed passed them woodenly, and went down the stairs. There was no hope Harry- Potter- would call him back. Draco had known their relationship was charity, and he was the poor one here.

The next few weeks were painful. His colors had gone- all those bright colors had set and now he knew what black looked like. Draco also knew Harry wouldn't write- that they were really, truly over. The final killing curse was the engagement announcement in the paper.

But in a way, that was the most freeing thing he'd ever felt. Maybe that was what it was like to die- freeing. He didn't know and he certainly hadn't asked Harry.

And then Astoria had come into his life, a streak of blue in his otherwise dark world. Harry had been red and vibrant, girl Weasley had been black. Astoria was blue, soothing and refined, a pleasant breath of fresh air. And Draco? As paradoxical as it seemed, he was white- malleable to the highest extent, soaking in others' colors.

So here he was now, watching his child- his fucking child, who had truly never seemed possible- play in the gardens, laughing happily.

Much time had passed and Draco was still white. Astoria turned him blue, but it wasn't bad. Nothing about her could be bad. She was an angel in human form.

But his son? Scorpius turned Draco golden. And Draco had always preferred gold to red, no matter they were both Gryffindor colors.


End file.
